


We lost our minds.....and it was beautiful

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Minor Character Death, modern dan and phil, um poor ryan, younow chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan and Phil. Those guys from the internet, right? Who anyone can trust right? Wrong. At least in this story. Dan Howell and Phil Lester lose their minds and become something which lacks empathy or remorse. They become cold-blooded serial killers. </p><p>But what pushed them over the edge? </p><p>AN: i wrote this thing and regret it but its worth a read lol</p>
            </blockquote>





	We lost our minds.....and it was beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Okay, so I love Dan and Phil- they are my freakin' idols, but one night when I was bored and finished my 5th college essay I was like "i wonder what if would be like if Dan and Phil were serial killers" and this train-wreck was born. So yeah, I guess I hope you enjoyed? and leave feedback? :3 
> 
> This is completely fiction, I love Dan and Phil- but c’mon, twisting two innocent cinnamon rolls into psychopathic socio-paths was way too much fun ;) 
> 
> inspired by: Dan's psycho thoughts video

Warnings: Murder, death, blood, loss of sanity

Words: just over 3k 

-

So they might have slipped up this time, so what? Dan kept his eyes lingering on his computer screen which brightly reflected the You-Now chat flickering as messages popped up every few seconds. He tried to keep up with the chat, keeping silent for a moment. They won’t notice right. He kept one eye trained on the chat screen while the other lingered on his fingernails he was keeping hidden under the table. Shit. Dan peered closely at one distinct fingernail which had caught his attention. He was well aware of the chat becoming progressively harder to follow and every few seconds he’d catch a message making his lips curl into a smirk.

He couldn’t help it. His fans knew he was a smirker, so he could really act like himself around them and on the internet. But this smirk- this twisted grin which suddenly took over his face when he saw the message, he wondered if any of them suspected a thing. No. he stifled a laugh, picking at dried blood lining his fingernails. Okay, he should have been more careful. But nobody’s perfect right? Phil was surely going to lecture him. 

“Hey, what’s he looking at?” the girl or- Poppy Turner- that was the girl’s name. Dan narrowed his eyes slightly, not enough to look pissed off or irritated, he’d perfect this fucking look. Almost every damn day; just in case one day he slipped up. He was looking at Poppy’s message now and despite pasting a grin on his face and doing that fucking fake laugh- he couldn’t help his stomach drop slightly. Okay, so maybe they had messed up a lot. At the exact same second Poppy’s message started to get noticed in the chat by others and Dan felt his fingers twitch, his stomach starting to twist uncomfortably- his phone vibrated in his pocket. 

“Oooh a message!” he might have exaggerated his voice slightly, and may have bent over in his chair on purpose just to get that perfect pose- he couldn’t help a sly smile crossing his lips when he saw they were taking snapshot after snapshot of him. They worship me, he thought with mental glee. However bewildered he was, oh did he take a brilliantly twisted advantage in the fact that his fans thought he was god? He slipped his phone from his pocket, still smiling, and looked down at the message displayed on his home screen.  
How can we get caught? He fiddled with a stray strand of brown hair as he read and re-read Phil’s message, the glare from his phone reflecting in his eyes. How can we get caught when they choose ignorance over logic? 

You should keep an eye out on the chat. And wash your hands! :/ 

Dan smiles at Phil’s message, but he’s right. His fingernails were a murky shade of red- still fresh. And did someone notice it? Dan sigh’s, keeping his hands in his lap, gripped around his phone. Okay then. Game on. His brown eyes scan the chat for anything else suspicious looking, but there was nothing but senseless garbage littering the screen. Once again he can’t help it. Even as he’s answering questions so flippantly, he can’t help that smile, that tiny hint that something was indeed possibly wrong with his mental state right now. 

But nobody figured it out or cared; because they were too busy asking him if he and Phil were ‘legit.’ He raised his eyebrows at that message. “Yep, me and Phil are definitely real!” he leans forward so his face is just about touching the screen. “See!” he makes sure his hands are hidden – he guessed if this chat were actually smart and over the age of twelve…they might figure out his and Phil’s strange little hobby. 

But then he saw it. And he swore his hands started to itch irritably. He suddenly felt dirty- no…filthy. He felt him all over his skin and in his hair- and oh god, in his fingernails. He started to itch his hands subconsciously, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. He stared at his reflection on the screen in front of him. Okay, so his cool was gone now; replaced with a sudden crippling anxiety, which managed to haunt him every time he closed his eyes. But this was different. For a second, just a second, he examined his face in the reflection. 

He was smiling. Of course he was – if he lost his smile they would suspect something. He noticed his hands were shaking in his lap. Then he was glancing back at the screen and he was ignoring the messages flickering in his gaze as he stared at his face. Pale. He was pale. Dan couldn't help searching for a smear- or a splatter on his face or neck. The last one put up a fight, but Phil took care of that. He double-checked his clothes. Not the clothes he went out in, of course he has the initiative to change. He was a mess afterwards. But after changing into clean clothes and washing- no scrubbing his face, he still felt dirty. He could still feel him everywhere.  
“Are you okay, Dan?” 

“Hey, Dan! Are you okay?” 

“COME TO MANCHESTER. BTW ARE YOU OKAY?” 

He seemed to snap out of it then and smiled at the camera, and the hundreds of thousands of fans watching him all over the world. They had no idea. He stifled a giggle and blamed it on feeling hyper. The itching had subsided and his breathing went back to normal. He took a deep breath and started to wind out a story about decorating the lounge, a tiresome chore. That’s why he was so pale. Though despite all the fake smiles and laughter, his mind was on overload. He had to shower. If he didn't shower he was going to lose it. 

Why didn't he wash his hands? The sudden tinny whining of an ambulance rushing past caught him off guard and he couldn't help his gaze finding the smear of dark crimson on the floorboards, just near the door. It was out of camera-shot, but it still worried him. It was Phil’s fault, he reminded himself. Phil had been the one to come bumbling into the lounge, still wearing his high-tops. The shoes which had tread in so much blood Phil had managed to make a fucking mess everywhere. Dan had been on his hands and knees since five O clock scrubbing the floors. Phil had apologised, of course he had. And Dan had forgiven him. They were that kind of couple. Though just as Dan had sat down to do his live-show, he’d spotted it. The last possible piece of evidence. God, Phil was so clumsy! He felt his fists clench in his lap and tore his gaze from Phil’s mistake. 

“I'm going to have to go in a bit, I’m starving.” Dan lied. It was only half nine, and he wasn't hungry. Not for food, anyway. His breath quickened with the sudden thought of the chase; of the screams and then the end. 

The chase, the screams and then the end; Dan grinned as he recited names off the chat and tried not to laugh out loud. It was pretty hard, considering him having a blood stain on the floorboards of his lounge and nobody suspected a thing. Still keeping his hands shoved in his pocket, he said farewell to any straying viewers and then proceeded to switch off the camera, keeping the sleeves of his hoody over his hands. 

Okay, so maybe that was a bit suspicious, he thought to himself as he went offline. The second he was on his own in the lounge, breathing heavily as he sat there, examining his nails as he hummed a tune he didn’t know, he couldn’t help sudden glances at the camera still pointing at him, so he reached over and knocked it off the monitor. It hit the desk with a loud crack and Dan only smiled. No more you-now’s for a while. Shame. 

“Did you just break our hands-free camera?” Phil startles him as the elder enters the lounge in his usual attire; his sonic the hedgehog shirt and jeans. Dan notice d his friend was wearing mis-matched socks. “Maybe.” He shrugged, smiling. Phil made his way over to the TV and hit the on switch before collapsing onto the sofa. “Well, you’re paying for it!” Phi’s voice is teasing and comforting and Dan welcomes it instantly. 

Dan gets up and stretches, and Phil stops flicking through the channels, twisting around to give Dan the disapproving eyes. “Dan.” Phil’s eyes cloud with worry and he stands up, making his way over to Dan who rolls his eyes. “Relax, nobody noticed!” he insisted, a twisted smile crossing his lips. “Phil they’re all thick.” 

Phil grabs Dan’s hands and the younger boy bites back a cry when Phil’s hands wrap around his own, his sharp fingernails grazing his flesh. “Wash them, Dan.” Phil frowns at the blood encrusted into his friends’ nails and hummed with disdain. “How did you get it in your nails?” Phil loses the disappointed look and his lips curl into a dimpled grin. “Was he that hard?” Phil smirks challengingly at Dan and the younger man shrugged. “Nah, I just cut too deep-“ Dan shivered, biting back a laugh. But he could laugh now, because he was alone with Phil. Could it be any better? “I don’t know, he just…he was bleeding so much all over my hands!” Dan started to laugh and after a surprised look, Phil joined in. The two of them enveloped in a hysterical laughing match, the two of them going tomato red. Dan hadn't laughed like this in a long time. He held his stomach and revelled in the joy filling him up. Phil finally got a-hold of himself and sat back down on the sofa, grabbing the remote. 

“Attack on Titan marathon?” Phil grins suggestively at Dan and the younger man smiled back, but shrugged and folded his arms, lingering on spot. Phil noticed his friends discomfort and he frowned. “What is it?”

Dan sighed and started to itch at his hands again. “Can we…” he hesitated for a second, before he eventually regains his confidence and he runs over to Phil, nearly slipping on the floorboards in his socks. “Can we go out again?” he wraps his arms around Phil, who leans back into the couch cushions, nearly taking Dan with him. Dan hung over the edge of the couch, keeping a hold on Phil. “C’mon Phil!” he wined, dragging out Phil’s name. “I’m not…” he searches for the right word in his mind and a grin spreads across his face. “Satisfied.” 

“Daaaannnnnnnn,” Phil sighs, mimicking Dan. He turns to meet the dark and twisted gleam in his friend’s eyes that he’d become used to. After all, they share the strange hobby.  
Dan acts like a child, clinging onto Phil and whining his name every couple of seconds. Phil doesn’t move from the couch. “Bake-off’s on!” he grabs for the remote but Dan sweeps for it before he can manage, and then Dan is holding the remote with a sly smile on his lips. “Record it.” He grabs Phil and yanks him off the couch despite his friend groaning. “It’ll take like ten minutes!” Dan is already grabbing his jacket which was slung over the bridge of the couch and chucks Phil’s jacket at the elder who catches it and pulls it on. “That look in your eye...” Phil mutters, pocketing his phone, making his way over to Dan who was smiling at him suggestively. “What look?” the younger boy grabs for his hand excitedly and Phil just chuckles. “You’re messed up, Dan.” 

Dan just laughs and pulls a reluctant Phil out of the lounge, through the door and down the stairs. “Says the guy who’s slit multiple throats, yet makes it back in time to watch The Great British Bake Off!” Dan shoots back, grinning as he tugs Phil down each-step. Phil snorted. “Oh, you can talk?” the two of them reach the door and Dan pulls out his phone excitedly. “I want to film it this time.” Dan swings the camera by the strap attatched to it, that spiteful smirk back on his lips. He points the camera at Phil, fiddling with the buttons. “Is it wrong that I’m going to document this?” Dan snapped a few photos of Phil and laughed when Phil dodged out of the way. “If we do this, do you promise to clean up all that blood up off the lounge floor?” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “It’s not like any of them have the brains to figure it out.”  
“Point.” Phil mutters, raising his eyebrows at that distinctive gleam in his friend’s eyes which made shiver in both fear and excitement. Is it wrong to fear your best friend as well as yourself? 

Phil shook his head as if to rid his mind of those thoughts. The thoughts which haunted him sometimes; it was like his mind got a hold of itself at times. “What the hell are you doing?!” a little tinny voice in his head would shriek. The voice was his own and it told him what he was doing was wrong; Immoral, sick and twisted; Bla, bla, bla. Phil has learned to block out that voice because he enjoyed it. No he loved it. Every cry for mercy would set his mind into a frenzy of pleasure and joy and happiness; Every time sharp fingernails attached to desperate and prying hands trailed down his cheeks, he felt no pain. He was too high on the euphoria. He was too busy grabbing a squirming waist and slamming it against rough brick wall. The crack of a skull splitting open and muffled cries as his knife skimmed over a pale neck- he never really heard the gasping cries and gurgling as yet another life slipped away. He just knelt over his victim, a small smile on his face. There was something in his eyes which made the girl silently beg for death as she lay in a puddle of slowly congealing blood. It wasn't the look of joy or relief. His eyes were blank. No remorse, no mercy. Phil Lester was a monster.  
*  
London has never been an incredibly safe place, least of all at night. But compared to the other nights, tonight was special. A dense heavy fog blanketed London as well at the rest of the country. It had been causing traffic disruption’s all day and had brought most of the capital to a halt. Fog lights weren't good enough to see through the thick. Almost suffocating mist which claimed the country a couple of days ago; though for Dan and Phil the fog was a clean and easy job with no mess; Grab some poor soul and slit their throat in just the right place so her death is quick and quiet. It would be enough to satisfy the hunger- no the cravings which ripped through Dan’s body right now. He was walking at a fast pace, Phil beside him. Every shaky intake of breath was evident in the air around him as he quickened his pace. “Where is everyone?” his voice was an impatient growl, his fists clenching at his sides. Phil shrugged and attempted a lame joke, playfully knocking into his best friend. “I don’t know,” he kicked through frozen leaves strewn across the pavement. “I bet they’re all watching bake-off.” Dan took a moment to process Phil’s words before a smile spread across his face. “You’re a fucking spoon, you know that right?” he grabbed Phil’s hand and squeezed it for warmth. His fingernails dug into the flesh of Phil’s hand and the elder boy bit back a cry but didn't pull away. He was used to this by now. If Dan didn't get a kill in a certain amount of time, he’d become irritated and angry- impulsive and sometimes violent in rare cases. He remembered when Dan slashed his face with a knife when he refused to work in the daylight. 

They were a fucked up couple. How much more fucked up could you get? The two of them shared a thirst - a hunger for death. A darkness which had consumed the two of them after fame had gotten too much. It started with panic attacks, a depression which hung over them for a whole year. They forced smiles and pretended to be them for a year. But one day Dan appeared in the doorway of Phil’s room while the elder edited a video. Dan had been shaking and could barely stand as he stumbled towards Phil. His hands were slick with something dark and crimson- a smell which set off a hidden euphoria Phil had never felt before. 

“She was...she was homeless!” Dan’s eyes were wide with shock and something else which scared him somewhere deep, deep, and deep inside. But the monster has already taken over. His t-shirt was smudged with red and his hair an unbrushed mop falling in his eyes. If Phil could choose a moment when he figured out that his best friend has lost his mind, was definitely this. Dan Howell stood with a smile on his face- which started to become a smirk- and then dissolved into a grin. “I killed her!” he held up his bloody hands with a shriek of excitement. “I- I killed someone!” his voice was a breathless hiss, a subtle scream for his slipping sanity. Dan went to stand by the mirror. The shards were still in place, but his face was in shattered and fragmented pieces split across the frame. He lifted a trembling hand, stained a deep, dark crimson.  
And that’s when he smiled. And that’s when Phil lost any recollection of what happened that night. 

“It’s good right?” Dan’s voice was more like a shriek. Hyperactive and excited. He studied his hands and grinned. Phil wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. In the end he did both.  
Dan smiled at his refection – at his dark eyes and pale skin, splotched with red. At the very back of his decomposing mind he recalled standing in that very spot. Back when things seemed to much harder.

Two months prior he was standing. Arms folded. Brown eyes still his own, that still withheld things such a empathy and remorse. Back when he was losing himself – but still in control. 

I'm losing my mind he’d stared at himself. Alone in his room after Phil had gone to do something he no longer cared about. There were so many unfinished video idea’s he’d left to rot in his notebook. There were so many thoughts clogging his mind; he clawed at his hair and watched his mouth twist into a O and tears dribble down his face. But he couldn't hear himself. Not any-more. He wasn't himself any-more. 

He pulled a smile then. So forced it hurt. Is this what they saw? He examined his face down to every detail; his perfectly shaped teeth, perfectly partitioned hair in a perfect side-fringe falling just above his eyes.  
There was a voice in his head. And lately he’d ignored it, but as seconds and minutes, days and months pass, that voice gets louder. And he’s scared. He’s fucking terrified of what it’s going to do to him. To them. Phil was on the brink too. Sometimes Dan caught Phil staring into space. “Hey, are you okay?” Dan wasn't okay. But he pulled the best fake reassuring smile he could muster and Phil stared straight through him; an identical smile on his face. “I'm fine!” he’d snap out of it quickly and go back to watching TV or playing with his phone. 

Dan knew better. They were both losing their minds; he could almost feel his sanity slipping away. Two months later Dan Howell was gone and there was a monster in his body; the voice has won. 

“M’not losing it...I’m paranoid…I’m not losing it,” he’d stand in front of the mirror every day, and every day he’d notice small changes in himself slowly until the confused frown became a small smile. And fuck, it scared him to death. Until he stopped caring. Until he stopped looking in the mirror because he’d smashed it. 

Phil didn’t remember what happened that night. His memory was like a rewinding DVD. Ever since that night he’d been stuck in the past. He was still standing here in his room, motionless. He had been holding his phone and was pretty sure he had wanted to call the police. He had, right? So why was he here now? Why had he joined Dan in his murderous quest which eventually robbed him of his mind too? 

Because it was fun; Phil’s smile was unnerving and terrifying, his gaze on a teenage boy running down the street, yelling down his phone. Seventeen year old Ryan Stohess was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He stood at the end of the road, tottering on the edge of the pavement. He was far too engaged in the Facebook conversation he was having with his year 7 crush to notice two shadows get progressively closer and closer to him. Ryan tapped a message from his mum and he began to smile softly despite hugging himself for warmth. 

Teas on! Shepherd’s pie, your fave lol careful in the fog ok? 

Ryan slipped his phone into his pocket along with his hands, crippled by the cold. His mother had never really learned how to text properly. Every time she texted him ‘lol’ or ‘lmfao’ he could internally cringe. 

Ryan Stohess considered himself a nobody. A somebody with no real life path, all he was really doing was winging his college career and preying he’d get into a decent university. Then what? Would he get a job and find girl? Have a kid and settle down? Or would he travel the world? 

Ryan could feel his toes goes numb and he shuffled uncomfortably, his gaze momentarily leaving the bright screen of his phone which lit up his face to watch the road and his lips pressed together when his mum’s red Vauxhall didn't appear. Okay, so maybe it was a bad idea to wait in the middle of nowhere. He was already starting to regret his route from college. He could already hear his mother’s disappointing words. 

Dan was already crossing the road, and he was a shadow in the fog, a monster in the night. And he had already claimed his prey. Phil followed suite. His heart hammered with anticipation. His tongue stuck out of his mouth, scraping the curves of his lips, eyes brightening as Dan let out a sigh of relief. “Fucking finally!” 

Ryan has no idea. Something in Phil’s mind snapped; screaming at him to stop. But he blocked it out. There was only him, Dan and their next job.  
“Excuse me!” Dan’s voice was an echo of his old self. He caught the attention of the teenage boy almost automatically, who turned and smiled politely. Ryan Stohess. Dan couldn't hold back a laugh any more and giggled loudly, almost manically. Ryan didn't even raise an eyebrow. “Sorry, do you know a good restaurant around here?” Dan loved role-playing. He grabbed Phil’s hand and yanked him forcefully to his side. The elder man just smiled and nodded, though ducked his head slightly. Phil wasn't the best actor. 

“Sorry, I can barely see you!” the boy laughs a little, fiddling with his hair. Innocent eyes peer through the fog and land on the two killers standing side-by-side.  
Ryan took a step forwards and smiled at the two guys- though maybe the younger one with brown hair and almost crazy eyes was standing a little too close? He pulled the hood of his jacket over his short brown hair and folded his arms, once again trying to hug warmth into himself. He squinted through the fog, catching the faces of two guys in their twenties. Both smiling with too much teeth. But he was naïve. “Uh- sure?” he shrugged and pointed behind the two of them, who made no move to follow his direction. They continued to stare at him, and maybe this might have been the time for a normal person where it would click that something was seriously wrong, but Ryan just smiled patiently. “There’s a KFC near Islington road?” he sighed and shrugged hopelessly. “Sorry, I um...” he shivered when a sharp and biting wind knocked his hood off. “I don’t really eat around here?” Ryan pulled his hood back up; his teeth were starting to chatter harshly. 

Dan and Phil didn’t move. Dan nodded slowly, a smile starting to curve on his lips. “Ah right!” he grinned. Again, way too much teeth. “Hey, if you don’t mind me asking…why are you in the middle of nowhere?” The fake smile was gone, replaced with something twisted and psychotic. Ryan took a step backwards, the dark gleam in Dan’s eyes nearly knocking the breath out of him. There was something in Dan’s eyes which connoted a sense of emptiness. There was no real emotion staring back at Ryan; only hunger. No empathy or remorse. There was just nothing. 

Dan was practically vibrating with excitement, a manic grin on his face. 

Phil reached into his pocket, feeling along the slick edges of the kitchen knife hidden from view. He began to smile. “Do you have a minute?” When Ryan let out a gasp of profanities, his breath coming out fast desperate as he turned to run. But they were lightning fast – no supernatural force at work. Just need. Greed. Want. 

Dan just smiles, his laugh echoing Phil’s. “On a scale from one to ten...” he takes a threatening step towards the boy, who steps back and glances around fearfully. Dan indulged in the sudden alarm and fear in Ryan’s eyes. Phil’s hand shoots out in a matter of seconds and he was in Phil’s grasp. Dan just stood there watching the scene before him, eyes glinting dangerously. Ryan sees red when he catches the silver of the knife, and he suddenly can’t move. Petrified to the spot. Or it might have been because Dan had his arms wrapped around his waist and Ryan’s next words are choked in his throat as Dan’s icy cold lips touch the bridge of his ears.  
The young man’s voice is a cool whisper which numbs him all over. All his fight has gone. 

“How fucked are you right now?”


End file.
